Out of the Fire
by LuckyRatTail
Summary: Straight after the events of HBP. As Snape and Malfoy make for the exit the latter has second thoughts, but his escape proves more costly than at first perceived... Darkness, confusion, and a lot of rain. Seriously in need of reviews, people...
1. Hell to Pay

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters featured in this chapter, they belong to the wonderful J. K. Rowling.

He was running, running so fast he could hardly breathe, while steel grey rain pelted out of the sky. The ground beneath his feet was slimy with mud, the hem of his robes sopping, dragging him down. He slipped. Black fluid splattered over his pale face, silvery eyes almost translucent with fear.

_What have I done? What didn't I do?_

A bony, white hand gripped his wrist, skeletal, spider-like fingers digging into the boy's icy cold skin. Eyes like coal-pits bored down a cruel nose and a voice, barely audible in the howling storm, hissed "Get up".

Barely having time to draw another breath, Draco suddenly found himself on his feet again. He blinked icy droplets of water from his eyes, white-blonde hair dark with rain and plastered to his forehead in sharp streaks. He stared ahead, trying to make out the figures in front of them through the haze of fog, but he could scarcely see the dark figure to his right, the one hauling him along by his wrist. The ground seemed to swallow him and he slipped again. A wizened, pleading face flashed before his eyes.

He jerked sideways, his limbs twisting and twitching as a sudden, intense pain seared through him. He heard a muffled voice shouting something ahead, then the icy tones of the figure directing a wand at Draco's writhing feet. "Get up, or I'll leave you here, you miserable little…"

He couldn't hear any more; with his ears so close to the ground the splash of the rain drowned out the rest of the professor's words. He wrenched at his nerves, not daring to close his eyes in case that frail face stared into them again. It didn't matter what happened now, whether he was left here or not. He would gladly rot for eternity in this god-forsaken swamp rather than face what was waiting for him when they finally returned.

He had failed, Now there would be Hell to pay.

There was a shout behind them, and the dreadful curse that swarmed over him was dropped in an instant. Draco struggled to his feet and glanced back. A lone, small figure was toiling his way along the path to the gates, aiming curses at the escaping Death Eaters. Snape let go of the boy's wrist, urged him on with another muttered threat, then shot a hex behind him and ran.

But he had missed, and their pursuer was gaining on them, shooting streams of light that used every last bit of energy he had. Harry would not let them escape - he couldn't. Not after what they had done. If he could just delay Snape; the others would reach the gates in a matter of seconds, he knew that, but without Snape, Malfoy couldn't leave. Stop Snape, and he would stop them both.

All but two of the Death Eaters had surpassed the entrance to Hogwarts and disapparated, the remaining pair were still fighting off Harry's vengeful pursuit. He shot a half curse, then another - each time they were blocked by Snape. The professor's white face furious, he spun round to confront the boy head on, shouting to Draco to keep running.

"How dare you…" Draco heard Snape cry, the vehemence in his voice frightening. _Nothing,_ he thought, _compared to what was waiting for him._

_I don't… I can't… Not anymore…_

Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind; an offer of escape, protection. He had worked so hard for this goal, for the glory of serving the one that everyone feared. So many hours of strife and planning only to realise what he had done wrong.

_And shouldn't He have been grateful! Every moment of my life for the past year devoted to His service, getting closer and closer to succeeding and yet every time punished for failure! I scraped and scrounged for Him - I risked my life… only to lose it at His hands._

What he wouldn't give for an escape. Some way out, some way just to delay His anger, to find a way of redeeming himself - or ridding himself of the Dark Lord's shadow once and for all.

He shook his head, his pale skin gleaming against the sullen sky. A few more steps and he was at the gates. He looked back. Snape was still duelling with Potter, while a faint orange glow was emanating from somewhere in the grounds, though the smoke of the fire could not reach him through the hammering rain. The other Death Eaters were gone - had by now reached their destination, preparing to report to the Dark Lord. He already knew what they would say.

The small figure of Potter had finally fallen to the ground, and Snape came tearing towards the gates. Draco was shaking with anxiety, his feet firmly planted in the sodden earth as the hazy silhouette grew nearer and nearer. Snape took hold of his right shoulder in a clamping grip, "Let's leave before you cause any more trouble," he whispered.

Dumbledore's words swam once more through his memory.

This was it - they would disapparate and then join the other Death Eaters, to be mocked and jeered and finally punished. _Not Snape, no, Snape would get all the glory, all the reward for my hard work! It isn't right! It isn't fair! He didn't even believe I was good enough to apparate, that I needed a chaperone - He couldn't give me the location in case I broke under torture. How dare He! I don't deserve to suffer His punishment... I will be ridiculed by no-one._

In the split second before Snape lifted one foot off the ground, ready to disapparate, Draco dodged to the left.


	2. Into the Suburbs

Disclaimer: I do not own Snape, Draco or Moody - they belong to J. K. Rowling. The foul-mouths at the end however, they're all mine...

Snape was gone in an instant, and the pale, shivering boy was left standing alone between the gateposts.

He had to move quickly; any second the Death Eaters would realise that he was missing and would return to collect him. He couldn't risk staying still for another moment, he had to leave now before he had any second thoughts about turning his back.

But what would they think? That he had just got lost? _No, He was never that stupid. Ignorant, arrogant…but never stupid._

He heard a voice behind him. There were figures running towards the gates, blurry through the rain. As they drew nearer, Draco could make out the scarred and pitted face of Alastor Moody, limping crookedly, one eye spinning. He was holding a wand out in front of him.

"Bloody fog…who's that..?" Moody's metal leg splashed into a pool of filthy rain water, he skidded slightly, and dug his other foot deeper into the mud to steady himself.

Draco shivered. _Whatever happens…even if I stay, he'd never believe me. I've got no choice._ He shifted his weight onto his left foot.

"You, boy!" came the roar of Moody's voice. "Stay where you are! I mean it!"

Something red shot over Draco's shoulder and he rolled to the ground. _I need a distraction!_ he thought desperately. _He's got his eye on me, but, if I could just…_ Fumbling in the pocket of his robes, he pulled out his wand and shifted his hand so that the stick of wood pointed at his pursuer, but remained close enough to the ground to be concealed.

"Don't you dare!"

Too late. He fired a spell behind the clanking figure, one that barely had any light to it at all, and muttered "recito Moody". It hit the blurry outline of a tall tree, where it vanished into the bark.

Seconds later, a gruff voice sounded directly behind the tree - "Moody?".

The Auror's round, blue eye swivelled to glare behind him. "Who's there!"

No answer.

"Show yourself!" the old man demanded.

Draco shifted slightly, the ex-Auror's concentration seemed to be half focused on Malfoy, half on the voice that had emanated from behind the tree. He just needed another something to distract…

"Clever trick, sonny." Moody grumbled, and heaved his metal leg forward, advancing further up the path. "But not clever enough -"

A slice of ice white lightening shot through the drizzling sky, blinding everyone on the Hogwarts grounds. For a few seconds the boy by the gates and the one clunking ever closer were thrown into a frustrating sightlessness.

The light disappeared and the sky seemed even darker now. The rain continued to smudge the outlines of every piece of dark foliage surrounding the creaking gates. Alastor Moody shook droplets of water from his grizzled hair, blinking his tiny black eye, while the other rolled round in exasperation.

The boy had vanished.

A sullen street lamp flickered overhead in the back-alley behind a closed junk shop. Rain pelted out of the chalk-board blackness of the sky, littering the street with pools of liquid, reflecting the backdrop of urban decay. A rusty car with a broken tail pipe rattled past the shaking figure crouching in the doorway of the shop, the windows behind him papered with fading posters, the stone steps barely visible under a decade's worth of chewing gum wads and the walls coated with graffiti.

Draco pushed his fingers through his hair, as though clawing at his own brain for an idea. He didn't have a clue where he was - it was certainly nowhere inhabited by wizards. He looked down at his soaking wet robes, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, the air freezing. Examining the bearded man hunched on the opposite street corner, three mangy scarves wrapped round his neck, Draco was almost certain that no other muggle wandering these grimy pavements would be wearing anything as smart and shining as what was draped around his trembling shoulders.

Without warning, his mind shot back to the events that had surpassed less than an hour ago. He screwed up his eyes, concentrating on the splashes of the cars rumbling by, the drip of rain from the shop roof to his feet.

_It wasn't me…I didn't do it. I could have saved him, saved myself…_

They'd be looking for him, now, he knew it. He had to hide - somewhere they wouldn't even think to look, let alone find him.

"Oi!"

The crude awakening came from a nearby car; Draco lifted his head to see three silhouettes visible through the steamy glass, one was leaning out of the window, gesticulating towards him.

"Oi, blondie!" he called again, a rough cockney jeer. "Yeah, you."

In spite of his anxiety, Draco's eyes narrowed. _How dare he…_

"You need a lift somewhere?" Came the voice in a mock-helpful tone. "'Cause, er… I'm sure we can make some room."

There was a smattering of laughter from the other occupants of the car. The frown on Draco's forehead deepened, his eyes cold. Then a sudden recklessness gripped him - he didn't care anymore, didn't care who these people were or where they would take him. Anywhere would be better than sitting around waiting to be found.

He pushed himself up from the step outside the shop, feeling his legs shaking from the immensity of his emotional weight. Despite the heat of anxiety bubbling within him, his skin felt icy from the rain, and the steely grey of his eyes was growing paler. He shifted numb fingers casually to his pocket, the tension in his chest relaxing only slightly at the knowledge that his wand was still there.

Draco stopped at the car door, suddenly feeling so out of place it almost embarrassed him. He looked down at his wizard's robes, at his black, patent leather shoes. The unshaven, square-jawed face leaning out of the car had noticed them too.

"Going to a ball, princess?" He sniggered, and clicked the rusty door of the car half open. "Get in."


	3. Nemo

Disclaimer: I do not own Draco, nor the song "Road to Nowhere" by Talking Heads._  
_

_The idea for this chapter title came from the Charles Dickens novel,_ Bleak House, _where one of the characters calls himself Nemo, the Latin for "no-one"_.

A thumping buzz was emanating from somewhere near the driver's seat of the car, as the vehicle churned its way through the rain-washed grime of East London. Draco hung his head and stared at his fidgeting fingers, raucous voices laughing and cursing around him while his mind raced miles away. He was totally alone now - no money, no home, no friends, no family… A strong stench of alcohol had seeded itself amongst the thickness of the air above him. He sniffed.

"Where're you headed, anyway?" barked the square-jawed man seated on Draco's right, his dark eyes glittering through the cloud of smoke surging round his head. He flicked his stubby fingers; ash sprinkled over the torn leather of the car seat.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Nowhere," he muttered.

To the boy's surprise, his new companion let out a harsh, inebriated laugh. "Oi, Frank!" he shouted to the black-haired man in front of him. "He's going nowhere - d'you know the way?"

The man called Frank began banging a rhythm out on the steering wheel, out of time with the music blasting from the car radio. He threw his head back and started singing in a loud, boisterous voice:

"_We're on a road to nowhere_…!"

The square-jawed man joined in, the vile smell of booze blasting from his open mouth. The car swerved to the right and a screeching sound was heard from somewhere on the other side of the road. Neither of the singers seemed to have noticed. He had put up with Crabbe and Goyle for six years - surely he could manage two more idiots? Draco closed his eyes.

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you!"

It was a woman's voice. Until now, Draco had not noticed the fourth person in the car, the dark-haired female in the passenger seat in front of him. Now she turned round to face him, a dismissive yet apologetic expression on her pale face, cold blue eyes flicking from Draco to the man laughing beside him.

"Frank! Craig! Shut it!" She fixed a frown on the boy who now looked almost frightened by her. "What's your name?" she asked, and Draco noticed she had a tarnished silver ring through one side of her lower lip.

He hesitated. Name - he hadn't even thought about… if he wanted to disappear completely, to go into hiding… 'If I don't want them to find Draco Malfoy, I'll have to stop being Draco Malfoy. I'll have to be…'

"What's the matter with you?" the girl asked. "Ain't you got a name?"

"Dra - er - Drake -" it was out before he could stop himself.

She smirked. "Drake? Very nice."

The car jerked to the right again and she spun back round in her seat and slapped Frank across his stubble-strewn face. "_Watch the road, you drunken nonce!_ There's a bloody copper over there! You want to get us pulled over?"

Frank let out a howl of laughter and struck the middle of the steering wheel. A loud beeping sounded from the outside of the car.

Draco jumped at the noise, and the girl turned round again to stare at him with an even deeper frown. "Drake what?" she demanded.

"Um…" A last name - any last name… The girl's eyes were boring into his, not a hint of the intoxicated blur worn by the two men. He shifted his own gaze to stare out of the hazy window for inspiration. They were rumbling past a line of tacky take-away shops, the neon signs glowing pink and green and with the occasional letter missing. One big blue word caught his eye, a giant cartoon of a yellow fish curling round the end letter.

Draco snapped his eyes back to hers. "Y-Young," he stammered. "Drake…Young."

He gulped. His brand new identity.

"Well, Young Drake Young," the girl grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, "I'm Alice. This is Frank fat-head and Craig -"

"Oi!" the man beside Draco leant forward and attempted some sort of feeble slap on the girl's arm. Alice shook her head, shoved him backwards and Craig slumped into his seat, the worn leather squeaking. To his uncomfortable surprise, Draco found a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Alice giggled. "God," she said, "five minutes ago you looked like death himself and now you're smiling. See, Craig, you ain't _that_ good for nothing…"

She continued to laugh, while the two men began singing again. Draco turned his head slowly to the left and stared out of the window, silver-white hair hanging down over his forehead to hide his latest frown. What would his father say if he could see him now? His stomach contracted at the thought - sitting in a muggle car, surrounded by the lowest of the low, no money, no home…

A familiar face swam before his weary eyes. Wizened, pleading.

"What you doing here anyway?" It was Alice talking to him again. He blinked himself out of his thoughts.

"Um… I don't know…"

Alice gripped the back of her chair with long, violet fingernails, her brows knitted together in mock concern. She nodded. "Think you were right, Craig - he is a crack-head."

The boy had no idea what she meant by this, but as the other two let out coarse bellows of laughter, he reasoned that it couldn't be anything good.

"No," he said defiantly. "No, I am not -"

"Alright, alright - I was only joking," the girl said. She studied him for a moment. "Runaway?"

Draco looked down at his feet, the patent leather of his shoes splattered with mud yet still shining. He nodded.

"Don't blame you," Alice muttered. "If my parents made me dress like that -"

Snapping shut his eyes, Draco clenched his teeth and suddenly found himself consumed by a familiar, yet now unwanted, pride. _How dare she talk about my parents! What does she know, the filthy little -_

But her voice interrupted his thoughts once again. "Alright, alright! I won't talk about it…" She had shifted in her seat to face through the grey windscreen again. She reached out a skinny white arm and thumped the driver on his burly shoulder. "Frank, you idiot, you've gone too far! Keep your eyes on the bloody road!"

Again, despite his sudden flare of anger, Draco found himself smiling. He'd ended up with the most useless people he had ever met, and yet… he had done it. Escaped. How long had he been in this car? Twenty minutes, maybe, half an hour? And not one sign of anything magical. The street outside his window was dark and streaked with rain, totally devoid of any sparks of wand light, or robed figures; there weren't even any alley cats that his fevered mind could have reasoned to be animagi. He was on the run - yes - but in a totally different world. Hopefully one where not even the Dark Lord would be able to find him.

The car rounded a corner where the wall was broken up by large, square windows. A sign above the shabby brown door indicated that the place was some sort of café, while a small piece of white card pinned to the inside of the glass read: Help Wanted

No money, no home, no family, no power, no status.

He had nothing anymore… did that mean he had nothing to lose?


	4. The Headline

Disclaimer: I do not own Draco, nor the Italics at the beginning of the story which are from _Harry Potter and the Half Bloody Prince_, nor the song _The Great Escape_ by Marillion. _  
_

_He held his wand out before him, his white hand shaking as he stared at the thin piece of wood. He had never thought of it as a weapon in this way before._

_He had to do it. Now. He had to prove himself…_

_His eyes widened; it was taking every effort to wrench them away from the figure facing him. The old man was saying something, but his ears were filled only with the rushing, pounding noise of his own pulse._

_"Come over to the right side, Draco… you are not a killer…"_

_I have to. Now. Now!_

He sat bolt upright, icy droplets of sweat sliding from his skin. He was shaking so violently that he could barely breathe. His hands ran through his sodden hair, clawing at his skull, as he forced open bloodshot eyes.

The couple upstairs were arguing again, their voices raging and screaming in a strangely muffled way through the low, cracked ceiling. The sound of several heavy vehicles slowly creaking into life interrupted the argument, along with the clang of something metal from the tiny kitchen next door to Draco's room.

He scratched at the back of his neck, his breathing finally slowing down. He'd left the light on while he was asleep, the movement from the flat above theirs was causing the single, dingy bulb to swing slightly. The boy placed a shaky foot onto worn brown carpet, the old springs of his bed creaking as he shifted his weight to stand up. The door was only a few feet from where his bed was positioned against the white-washed wall, and next to the chipped paint of the threshold was the light switch.

Draco clicked the switch downwards, closed his eyes for a moment, then leant against the wall.

The shadows of the box room lengthened only a little, the bulb barely having supplied more light than the tiny window. In one corner was heaped an assortment of second-hand clothes: t-shirts and jeans too big for him, a dusty black jacket and various pairs of darned socks. He scratched at his neck again, feeling a tiny lump on his skin which had not been there the night before, and which stung whenever he touched it.

_Draco… you are not a killer…_

The metal noise rang out from the kitchen again, then a bang at the door.

Draco pulled on several items of clothing, hardly noticing what he was picking up. He fancied he could hear the inebriated snoring of Craig, the door to the drunkard's room padlocked shut as the handle had long been broken. Draco padded along the darkness of the hallway, the stains on the carpet barely noticeable to him now, as were the scrawls on the walls left by the last people who stayed here. Neither of his three new companions had bothered to cover them up when they moved in.

He shivered, and scratched again at the lump on the back of his neck. He was now sure it was a bite.

Half of the kitchen door was obscured by a faded poster depicting a broad-shouldered man in a black leather coat. Something shining and silver was held in his outstretched hand, a blurry, rain-streaked background barely visible now, as was the bold lettering at the base of the picture. Over the years the beady black of the man's eyes had blanched to a coffee-stain brown, and now was a violent red.

Draco turned his gaze from the man's face, the eyes all too familiar. He pushed open the door and saw the watery blue of the Tuesday morning.

_Draco… you are not a killer…_

He let out a groan of distress and clamped his pale hands over his eyes.

"Stop! Stop! _Stop!_ Leave me alone!"

There was a loud grunting sound from Craig's room, then the sound of a sharp intake of breath from the boy standing in the cramped, dark kitchen. Then silence.

He didn't care about his flatmates, he hardly ever saw them. Craig was likely to be out cold all day, while Alice had a job in a paper shop Tuesdays and Thursdays. Frank was God-knows-where selling God-knows-what. They never bothered him, left him to sit in his room and stare at his shabby hide-away.

He stared down at the scuffed blue linoleum of the floor, smudged with dirt, it looked like it hadn't been cleaned for years. Various dishes and cracked mugs were piled unceremoniously into the filthy sink, the tap still dripping. A part of him wanted to run, screaming. All this disgust, this squalor. He was a Malfoy! He didn't deserve this…

Something brushed against the window and he almost leapt out of his skin. A large black crow, dusty with the city air, squawked twice, snapped his beak at a passing pigeon, then flew off. He breathed out slowly - no owls here.

"…this Tuesday morning we've got some classic golden oldies for you…"

The radio was on, quietly fizzling out the last of its battery power on a rickety shelf too high up for him to reach. He sniffed, scratched at his neck for a third time.

"And it's thanks to Clifford from Manchester…" the old man's voice grumbled on. Draco shuddered for no apparent reason and sat down on a gimcrack wooden chair. "…you've chosen _The Great Escape_ by Marillion; well, that's one we haven't heard for a while, Cliff…" The boy drummed his fingers on the plastic tabletop.

He was safe, at least - wasn't he? Muggles couldn't have known what had happened, no-one in this world knew. Certainly not the half-wits he was sharing a 'house' with. He'd braved one visit to a shop down the street, keeping his hair covered with a baseball cap, just to buy some clothes. The young woman serving him had suppressed a laugh at his wizard's robes, his leather shoes. He hadn't cared.

The kitchen table was littered with left-over newspapers, the ones that Alice would bring home at the end of a day's work in the shop. Most of them were trashy nonsense, but Draco had taken to reading the more serious articles just to make sure their hadn't been any sightings of anything magical near where he was. He had told himself that the moment anything at all suspicious occurred, he would leave.

The radio buzzed in on his thoughts, a drawling voice singing over steadily crashing cymbals: _"Standing in the open road… waiting to be recognised…"_

He shifted a few leaves aside and found the smudged front page of _The Times_, the curling insignia totally unrecognisable under layers of coffee stains. Something that looked like half a piece of very badly burnt toast was lying over the centre picture.

He lifted the sheet out of the pile so that the toast fell off, revealing a square, black and white image of a boy.

A boy with very pale skin, a pointed face and hair that looked white due to the poor contrast of the picture.

A boy wearing long black robes, with a gloved hand gripping his narrow shoulder.

A boy that was smirking.

_"Just when I thought I'd seen the last of you!… You come here, scratching at my door…"_

Instantly he dropped the sheet to the table and stood up. The chair toppled over behind him and he nearly fell over it in his haste to get as far from the picture as possible. Yet he never dared take his eyes from the narrow silver ones staring up at him.

His breath was coming in short, violent gasps. What the hell was he doing on the front of a Muggle paper!

He scanned the whole page, his eyes blurring the column in their hurry to read:

Boy Suspect Missing from Murder Case.

_A sixteen-year-old boy is wanted in connection with the murder of a prestigious member of the community who was found murdered last week at his home in West Scotland. The boy in question (pictured above) is of average height, slim, with pale skin, grey eyes and distinctive white-blonde hair. His name is Draco Malfoy, but there is the possibility that he may be using an alias to avoid detection -_

They know. They must know!

…_members of the public are reminded that this boy is potentially dangerous and should be approached with caution. Distressed family and friends of the victim are offering a substantial reward for the discovery of Draco Malfoy as he may be able to offer information crucial to the solving of this terrible crime…_

Draco leant back against the wall, glassy beads of sweat slipping over his forehead, his eyes stony cold and wide open. They were looking for him. All over the country there were people looking for him. It didn't matter that he wasn't part of the wizarding world anymore, didn't matter that he was hundreds of miles away from Hogwarts.

There was a clunking sound from behind Craig's door, then another grunt. "What if they've already seen this…" he was muttering to himself now, almost hysterical. "A substantial reward - they're desperate enough… They're not so stupid as to fail to make the connection… What if they turn me in…?"

The radio burbled a guitar solo, the vocalist screaming over the top to be heard: _"So tell me more… about the love that you rejected! Tell me more… about the trust you disrespected..!"_

He had no choice. In one movement he tore the front page into tiny shreds, throwing the pieces into the murky dishwater. That wouldn't be enough - Alice worked in a paper shop, she was bound to have seen this already. He slapped a hand over his mouth, breathing fast.

Stumbling out of the kitchen, he heard another unintelligible sound from Craig's room. There was a rattling at the lock.

He dived back into his tiny bedroom. "I've got to get out of here!"

**You've read this far, now please let me know what you think. (please please please!)**


	5. An Arduous Declivity

**Tevin Campbell: Stand Out **

Open up your eyes take a look at me  
If the picture fits in your memory  
I've been dreamin by the rythym like the beat of a heart  
And i won't stop until I start to stand out

Some people settle for the typical thing  
Livin' all their lives waitin' in the wings  
It ain't a question of 'if', just a matter of time  
Before I move to the front of the line

And once you're watchin' ev'ry move that I make  
Ya gotta believe that I got what it takes

(Chorus)  
To stand out, above the crowd  
Even if I gotta shout out loud  
'Til mine is the only face you see  
Gonna stand out 'til you notice me

If the squeaky wheels always gettin the greese  
I'm totally devoted to disturbin the peace  
And I'll do it all again, when I get it done  
Until I become your number one

No method to the madness and means of escape  
Gonna break every rule I'll bend them all out of shape  
It ain't a question of 'how' just a matter of when  
You get the message that I'm tryin to send

I'm under a spell, I'm in over my head  
And you kno I'm going all of the way, till the end

To stand out, above the crowd  
Even if I gotta shout out loud  
'Til mine is the only face you see  
Gonna stand out 'til you notice me, yeah

If I could make you stop and take a look at me instead of just  
Walkin' by  
There's nothin' that I wouldn't do  
If it was gettin' you to notice  
I'm alive

All I need is half a chance, a second thought, a second glance'll prove  
I got whatever it takes  
It's a piece of cake

To stand out, above the crowd  
Even if I gotta shout out loud  
'Til mine is the only face you see  
Gonna stand out  
Stand out, hey, stand out!  
(Yeah, yeah, yeah!)  
Stand out!  
'Til mine's the only face you see  
Gonna stand out  
'Til you notice me


	6. Mother

The woman's white-blonde hair gleamed in the dim light from the candles, her eyes blazing with a determination so fierce it was almost frightening. She stood up and strode towards him, her robes soaked with rain that dragged them along the floor behind her. Something rattled on one of the many bookshelves lining the walls as she took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Where is my son?"

Snape blinked at her. Her usually pale face had now regressed to being utterly stark with terrible anxiety, as she stared defiantly into the inky blackness of his eyes. He took half a step backwards, not daring to break her gaze.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Narcissa, you know as well as I -"

"Don't give me that!" she cried. "You should have every one of His servants out looking for him!"

At this, the man's lip curled. "It may _alarm_ you to learn," he said softly, "that the Dark Lord has more pressing matters to attend to other than the hunt for your recalcitrant child."

"He did everything that was asked of him!" Narcissa yelled, her eyes blazing. "And more! When I came to you, in confidence, _trusting you_ to help him, you promised me you would!"

"And I did," he said slowly. The flame of one of the few lamps in the room flickered, momentarily illuminating his face with a cold, sallow light. "I warned him of the consequences of failure; I offered him help, but he was too arrogant to accept it!"

A sharp crack resounded amongst the clutter of the tiny living room as Narcissa let out an angry gasp and struck him clean across the face. "How dare you!" she seethed. "He was just a boy! Surely you and _your boss_ knew that! He couldn't have been responsible for his feelings!"

Before she could lower her hand he had grabbed hold of it with his own, stepping out of the shadows that had concealed his face before to reveal pitch black eyes alight with fury. "You dare strike me again…" his hissed in menacing tones. "Your son was a pathetic little boy who had no idea what he had got himself into. You would do well to forget about him."

She almost choked with disbelief. "Forget about my own son!" she tugged at her arm, attempting to free it from his vice-like grip. Now she was incensed to the point of tears. "I could sooner forget my husband!"

His face contorted into something resembling a smile. "I thought you already had," he whispered, moving even closer to her. "Or did he merely slip your mind for a moment..?"

She was shaking now. "You disgust me," she spat, once more trying to wrench her arm free. "If you can't help me then at least let me go!"

He seemed to consider this, eyes never leaving hers. "I want you to make a promise to me," he said. She kept quiet, glaring at him, and he went on. "Narcissa, I want you to stay away - from me and from any of the others. Go home, and wait for your husband to return. Do not attempt to contact anyone, not even your sister. The Ministry are looking for your son, and no doubt they will come looking for you; they have already searched your house twice since the incident, and it would be better if they did not have reason to search it again." He released her arm, and she snatched it back immediately. "Is that clear?"

She scowled at him, the lines of her frown throwing dark shadows across her pale face. "So, you are refusing to help me?"

"My advice _is_ help!" he snapped. "You have no idea how the Dark Lord reacted to your son's behaviour! He is a traitor to our cause! And as such, he is now no more than a marked man. If he is found he will be killed on sight, and you will be treated the same if it is discovered that you have been trying to help him!"

Trembling hands brushed away the furious tears that were now streaming down her face, as she shook her head from side to side. "No…" she muttered. "No - they can't…" She turned away from him, moving tentatively from the room to the hallway.

Her fingers rested on the door handle, as she turned round once more to hear him murmur from the sitting room, "You have been warned, Narcissa. If you ignore my advice, then there is nothing more I can do for you."

"Yes, I'm afraid it's a definite case of _Borrelia burgdorferi_." The man in the clean white coat snapped his clip-board shut with a click that seemed to echo for hours afterwards inside the boy's head.

Draco blinked bloodshot eyes and listened hard through the thickness of his own thoughts to hear Alice's puzzled tones, "It's a what?".

The doctor nodded. "Lyme's disease." He examined his fingernails in a nonchalant fashion, frowning under perfectly manicured eyebrows. "Uncommon on British soil, I believe, but not totally unheard of. It is contracted from a certain species of tick, _Ixodes dammini_, found usually in the mountains. You're not a big hiker, are you?" He stared pointedly at Draco. 

The dark-haired boy lifted a pale face and glared at him, but Alice spoke before he could say a word. "Does he look like the type?" she snapped. "Anyway, what does it do, this disease?" 

The man in the white coat wrinkled his nose slightly at her, his eyes flicking over her dyed black hair hanging in ropy strands over a hooded top which had clearly not been washed for several months. She was resting on a stool by the side of Draco's hospital bed, tapping chipped purple nails on a blinding white bedspread, the awning of a genuine frown screening eyes smeared with some kind of dark green concoction which made her look faintly ill.

"Erm…" the doctor began. "Well - feverish symptoms, as you see here," he indicated Draco's internal struggle to stay awake. The boy's eyelids were drooping ever heavier, the deep, hazelnut brown of his eyes now barely visible. "And there can be a rash, of sorts."

"Is that what he's got on his neck?" Alice interjected. "Christ, that's disgusting."

The total absence of articulation in her words made Draco spurt out something like a laugh. Before, such blatant evidence of bad breeding would have been enough to make him almost sick with contempt, but he felt that now he was beyond caring. As far as he was concerned, Alice was the only one responsible for his being still alive.

His blurry gaze found the doctor who was treating him; the name on his badge called him Dr. A. Dexter. After having been transported in the back of Frank's car along buzzing, rain-washed streets and then carried through white doors that opened on their own, Draco had been thrown into a hard, blue chair from where he had gazed blearily up at this man's watery eyes. Before he had even realised where he was, Dr. A. Dexter had plunged a long, silver needle into his arm and poured something vile down his throat. The next thing he had known, he was lying in a bed staring up at a turquoise ceiling, in a room sparse of anything but bright light and a million artificial smells.

He took in a ragged sigh. _What has become of me?_

The other two were now arguing about something, Alice and the doctor. Frank and Craig had left long ago, Alice had informed him, and Draco could feel nothing but relief about this. While he did not mind Alice so much, largely because he had rather a lot to thank her for, the drunken barbarity of the two men still frightened him somewhat.

"…Well, Joseph, you'll need to stay here for, oh, a couple of weeks, perhaps?" the doctor was telling him. "Plenty of sleep, and, well, it would be best if you didn't have many visitors." He tapped his clip-board again in an authoritative manner, turned, and left the ward.

Alice glared after him. "Stuck up little…" she tutted inconsequentially at the door for a few moments, while Draco closed his eyes, his mind on other things. Suddenly he felt another hand on his arm, and snatched it away in one jolt. 

"Alright, alright," Alice muttered, retracting her skinny fingers and resolving to bite at the end of one of them. "I just thought…"

The boy sighed again, rubbing at the corner of one eye. "What is it?" he murmured.

"Well," she leaned a little closer to him, lowering her voice. "The dye's permanent, but it'll start to show when your hair grows out."

"What do you mean?" he asked, glancing over her shoulder at the two other people sleeping in beds in the same room.

The girl continued. "When your hair grows, it grows from the roots, right? So, the dye isn't covering that bit - the new bit - if you get what I mean. The roots of your hair are going to be blonde. It'll be obvious you've dyed it!"

He frowned. "Can't I just dye it again?"

"Well, yeah, you _can_," Alice said. "But you weren't even bloody well awake when I was dyeing yours, mate - it takes a while. Plus, if you have to do it here, they're going to notice, aren't they?"

Draco leant his head back against the white plastic headboard, blinking sleep from his eyes. "What about these?" he pointed to the contact lenses that had turned his pale, grey eyes to a rich brown.

"You've gotta clean those," the girl whispered. "Every night or something, 'wise they'll bloody hurt." Now it was her turn to sigh. "You've gotta get well quick, mate."

_It won't last. They'll figure it out soon enough and then what will happen to me?_ He closed his eyes again. He was so grateful for all that she had done to help him, but he feared that he had only hours to think of another way to get out of there.

The next few days were some of the most uneventful, yet the most anxious, that Draco had ever experienced. Alice, through some heated, and rather vociferous argument, had managed to convince the staff to let her stay in one of the apartments that were reserved for close family. He had no idea what she had told them, only that now everyone in the hospital called him Joseph. She would creep into his ward in the evenings and early morning, avoiding the scandalous eye of Dr. Dexter, to help him change his contact lenses. What she had said about his hair was already becoming apparent, though thankfully, the nurses had put this paleness down to stress concerning his illness. _Idiots._

He realised that he was becoming increasingly impatient with everyone and everything around him. The Muggle lifestyle had concealed him well enough before that he had not cared about the primitive nature of his surroundings, but now that his health was returning, he often found himself longing to pull out his wand and just disappear.

He reached a tentative hand towards the knot of wadding and bandages at his neck, though decided that he did not have quite enough strength yet to touch it. The light from the street several floors down filtered gently through the blinds on the windows, a mixture of deep, navy twilight and the orange glow of the street lamps. The ward was totally silent, the absence of noise only broken by the gentle rumble of traffic outside. For the first time since his escape, it wasn't raining in London.

Someone was snoring further down the ward, but Draco barely noticed anymore. His fever-ridden head resting on the cool whiteness of the pillows, he felt himself slowly drifting away, until all the aches and pains of his body had diminished into utter weightlessness. He breathed in deeply, and saw a familiar face before his eyes.

"Draco? Is that you?" It was a woman's voice, broken as though she had been crying. A voice that could be cold and cruel, but also caring and anxious, as it sounded now. "Are you alright? Where have you been?"

He was standing in his living room, rich carpet beneath his feet, shining ornaments and leather-bound books lining each wall. Two leather settees were stretched before a glorious fireplace, ablaze with a golden heat that flickered across his face. He took a slow step forward, feeling the edge of an expensive tapestry rug with his bare toes, the warmth of the fire growing ever more real.

The woman who had spoken was perched on the edge of a luxurious arm chair, her silver-white hair glimmering in the fire light. She stared up at him with fear in her eyes.

"Draco! Oh, you're alive!" She jumped to her feet, rushing towards him and pulling him into a tight hug. "I thought you were dead! Where have you been? What happened to you!"

The boy tried to speak, but found that he couldn't bring himself to admit his own cowardice to his mother. He stammered a few syllables, before she interrupted him again, her tone grave. "Draco, you can't stay here. They're looking for you - they're looking for me! They'll be here any minute, you must leave!"

There were tears in the corners of her eyes as she broke out of the embrace, pushing him at arm's length away from her, her hands shaking. "Please, my son, you have to go."

Her words were spoken with an urgency which sparked questions in Draco's mind. "Go where? Mother, how am I here? Did I apparate?"

"It doesn't matter how you got here, Draco, you must leave - now! Oh!" She threw her hands to her mouth as a loud banging came from the hallway. Someone was at the door. "Draco, my son," she clasped his shoulders, staring directly into his face. "You must not make the same mistake that your father did - do you hear me? Find the Order, they will protect you!"

"The Order?" Draco murmured, frightened by the panic in his mother's voice. The banging on the front door was growing more frequent by the second. "Who are the Order? What about Snape -?"

"No!" Narcissa cried. "You stay away from him! There is a price on your head, Draco, not just from the Ministry, but from Him as well! You need to stay hidden!"

With those words she pushed him away from her, and he suddenly felt weightless, powerless, as though he was being controlled by some other force. "Mother!" he cried, but she was too far away now; he seemed to be watching her through a window, a glass pane through which he could not be heard.

There was a crash somewhere in the distance, the sound of the Death Eaters breaking into the mansion. There were footsteps, heavy ones, pounding the rich carpet of the hallway, bursting through into the living room. And a scream, a terrified scream that could not be drowned out by the blazing fire bursting from its grate and filling the room with searing heat and a thick black smoke which was growing thicker… thicker… until his sight was swallowed by darkness, and he could see nothing more of his home.


	7. The Brink

He felt a sharp crack somewhere in the region of his right elbow, and coldness swarmed over his body. The bang of the ward door hammered through his head, every echo driving the ache deeper into his mind. He opened his eyes and harsh yellow light flooded his vision.

"Heavens! What's going on!"

"It's alright, ma'am, nothing to panic about…" the voice was gruff, menacing. Draco blinked upwards, and managed to make out the blurred outlines of two broad-shouldered men in dark uniforms, one conversing in low tones with a white-coated nurse, the other taking pounding steps towards him.

He tried to push himself upwards, but his hand slipped on the icy tiles. He shook his head. For the first time he was very conscious of the fact that he was only wearing a thin night-shirt, and tucked his bare feet under himself as he slid backwards on the floor.

"Had a bit of a nightmare, did we, sonny? Fell out of bed…?" The man's patronising tone made Draco's skin prickle. He reached up a shaking hand and grabbed hold of the white bed sheet, once more trying to heave himself to his feet.

The man crouched down in front of him, a sneer stretched above a square jaw, his voice lower this time. "Not at all like you're used to, is it, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco flinched, sitting there with his dyed hair, the lenses in his eyes - they would never have worked, never been as powerful as magic. He suddenly felt very stupid, a feeling he did not embrace.

"I - I don't know what you mean…"

The man let out a very false laugh. "Want me to explain it, do you?" he said, his voice even lower. "You're nicked, sunshine."

The squeal of a door hinge interrupted Draco's panic as Alice came running into the ward, eyes blazing. "What the Hell's going on? What are you doing here!" She crossed to the bed topped with crumpled sheets and devoid of occupant. "_What have you done with him!_"

"I'm here, Alice," came a trembling voice from floor.

The police officer stood up, his sneer now a condescending grin. "Ah, Miss Reynolds. It's nice to see you again."

Alice gave him an ugly scowl. "Don't know what you mean by that." she retorted. "Never seen you before in my life! Dra- I mean - Joe, you alright?" She ran round to the side of the bed where the boy was huddled against the wall. He rolled his eyes, and something flashed before them.

_Flames._

A piercing yell forced its way out of his mouth, and every other patient in the room was torn from their sleep. Instantly, Alice sprang backwards. "What have you done to him?" she shrieked, as the two officers strode towards the boy's thrashing form.

"Leave me alone!" he screamed. "I haven't done anything! I couldn't - I tried, but -!"

_The splintering of a broken door._

"Please!"

An arm hooked under Draco's shoulder and dragged him upright. Anxious muttering from the nurse, another curse from Alice, and a punch in the gut from the officer to his left. His eyes spun back into his head.

_Silver-blonde hair in the firelight. A shriek that froze his blood in its tracks._

"Don't touch me!"

Another clout, this time to the side of his head, and he felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Alice was shouting something, gesticulating fiercely, but it sounded muffled, too far away. There was a sound as though someone had clapped their hands, and suddenly she stopped. The nurse screamed. Someone opened the door to the ward.

From the vague outline he could determine that the newcomer was a girl. She had been carrying a bunch of flowers, though they were now scattered across the floor, dropped as she had thrown her hands up to her face in shock.

Draco shook his head again, desperately trying to stifle the hammering in his ears. 

_"Draco… you are not a killer…"_

"It's alright, Miss Granger, why don't you go and sit in the waiting room." The nurse's voice was shaking, and her fear must have been obvious to the newcomer, who was now pointing straight at the boy held suspended between two brawny police officers.

Frustration bubbled through his veins. No matter how many times he tried to clear his head his vision remained blurred. Something flickered in the back of his mind. _Miss Granger…?_

"But, my grandfather -" A girl's voice, late teens perhaps, intelligent.

"I've told you - go and wait in there and I'll call you when it's ok to come back in."

"What happened to that girl?"

"Look if you could just -" The door to the ward clicked shut. Draco blinked, though it was pointless. Had she gone?

There was an apologetic murmur from the newcomer. Then -

_"Petrificus totalus!"_

In an instant, Draco found himself being thrown to the floor as the two men beside him leapt forward. He hit the tiles with a thud and felt his arm go numb, looking up just in time to see the girl point a wand at the officers and yell out another curse. Both fell down with a smack.

The next moment, the girl was bent down beside Draco, lifting him to his feet and breathing in his ear, "I panicked. I should have used silent curses - someone could have heard us - we've got to get out quickly." 

"What…?" He felt himself being dragged towards frosted glass panels providing an even more blurry view of the waiting room, bare feet sliding over the linoleum. No shoes again.

Hermione pushed open the door and banged it shut behind them. She was still muttering only loud enough for him to hear. "We can't apparate. Don't ask me to explain now, but it would be a bad idea. Not that you're even well enough to _stand_ on your own, by the looks of things."

He felt nylon carpet beneath his soles, and his knee knocked against the wooden leg of a chair. Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger was holding him by the arm, hauling him out of hospital. Hermione Granger from Hogwarts… the friend of Harry Potter… the mudblood.

_She'll take me to the Ministry. They'll try me for murder. They'll send me to Azkaban. But I didn't do it! I couldn't!_

"I'll call for a taxi. It'll take five minutes, there are always black cabs around here." She was gripping his arm rather tightly, and suddenly Draco realised she had her wand pressed against his side.

"Don't try and run," she whispered. "I really don't want to use magic again; that mess back there will clear itself up, but this will be harder to conceal."

The fresh air stung his nostrils as they passed through the automatic doors into the hospital car park. Draco's vision was clearing, and so was his mind. By the time they reached the road, the cold wind whipping his bare legs, the dizziness that had clouded his mind for the last few days seemed to disperse in seconds. He wanted answers.

"What do you mean - _that mess?_ What are you doing here? And why can't we apparate?"

"Ssh!" she hissed. "That curse wasn't one of my best - they'll be unfreezing any minute and then they'll come looking for us. Now," she loosened her grip on his arm. "I'm going to get my phone out of my pocket, but I'll keep my wand out. You won't run, will you?"

He stared at her, partly in disbelief, partly in complete amazement. He had only ever seen anxiety or defiance in those brown eyes, but now they were utterly serious. There was a scar on her left cheek, and something that might have been a burn mark on her forehead. He lifted a foot as though to step away from her, and she raised her wand.

"I mean it," she said. He placed his foot back on the ground.

It took only two minutes for Hermione to pull a mobile phone from the pocket of her cord jacket and call a taxi, and another one and a half minutes for the car to arrive. The entire time Draco had stood, shivering, conscious of the wooden stick pointed straight at him. Hermione had offered him her jacket to keep him warm. He had bluntly refused. 

"Alright," she whispered, once both were seated in the back of the black cab. "Back there in the hospital, I'd gone to visit my grandfather, but he wasn't in your ward like I told the nurse. Actually, I'd seen the 'policemen' go in and recognised them."

Draco blinked at her, but the threat of being silently frozen when he was already chilled to the bone was enough to keep him from saying a word.

"I hope the Ministry figure it out," she muttered. "The thing is, they'll be watching all magical activity in Muggle areas, and when they see what's just happened they'll send someone into the hospital to sort it out. I really hope they recognise the Death Eaters for what they are, and consequently they shouldn't believe a word they say about us -"

"Death Eaters?" Draco blurted out, and the taxi driver turned his head ever so slightly towards them. Hermione suddenly gave a very fake laugh.

"Oh yeah - that was funny wasn't it? I loved the bit at the end when…" she trailed off as the driver's head faced forward once more. "Will you keep it down!" she said through gritted teeth. "Yes, they were Death Eaters - I'm surprised you didn't recognise them. And we couldn't apparate because the first thing the Ministry will do if they don't find the culprit where the magic took place, is trace the last apparition from there."

Draco looked away from her, staring into his lap. He suddenly realised he was breathing very heavily, and instinctively reached a hand to his neck. The bandages were gone. 

"Someone will notice I'm not there," he said quietly. "The nurses or something…"

"No they won't." Hermione said. "I used a memory charm on the nurse before I left, and on the receptionist. Didn't you notice?"

He said nothing. She threw a glance out the window. "Yes, just here please."

Draco stepped out of the cab, closed the door behind him and followed Hermione, almost blindly obedient, across a strip of grass to a grimy block of flats. His head was reeling. _Death Eaters in the hospital? Hermione Granger rescuing me? And what about Alice, what did they do to her? What would happen to her now?_

"It's just up here," Hermione said, leading him through a shabby door to an even shabbier hallway. It began to rain outside. She unlocked a red front door, pushed it open, and ushered him inside.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, he found himself shoved against a surface of scratched wallpaper, a hand about his shaking throat. His vision was suddenly obscured as he came face to face with a pair of fierce green eyes shielded behind cracked glasses, a wand pointing directly at his chest.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

**If anyone who reads this is enjoying it, please review and let me know! The disappointing amount of feedback has made me question whether I should just take this story off altogether. **


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